Sleeping with Sharks
by Roxas Destati
Summary: Filmore's always been chasing after Ike Broflovski since they were kids, both hating and idolizing him. All it takes it one little awkward sleepover for him to realize the Canadian machine might be more human and warmer than he thought. Mature.


**Sleeping with Sharks**

Roxas Destati

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><p><em>Warning: Content could be considered dubcon and possible trigger for some due to sleep fondling. It was suggested that some might be sensitive to this so a warning is a must.<em>

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><p>"It's late, go home already."<p>

"I can't."

"You have to be kidding."

"I'm not."

"I don't understand."

"There isn't anything to understand or is it too much for you to comprehend that I'm staying the night?"

Filmore was astonished, flabbergasted at such an idea. It had been bad enough that the small adopted Canadian had shown up at his door with their class project in hand, but now-.. He couldn't seriously be considering staying the night? That was simply too ridiculous of an idea. An idea that simply didn't happen and one that he wouldn't allow.

"No."

Ike was a robot, a mechanical thought processing machine that very nearly drove him mad with irritation, with wonder.

"No, what?"

He was his nemesis, the absolute thorn in his side that beat him in every area of academics.

"You aren't staying."

There was a pause, a stretch of silence between them that Filmore was very nearly drowning in from the way the younger boy's glasses seemed to regard him. He couldn't reach through that glass, that barrier, no matter how he tried and it was always that same calculating look that regarded him so closely. It was unnerving and yet thrilling to wonder what the small genius was possibly thinking.

Above all it was daunting. Did Ike function like normal people, ever? From the moment he'd walked into the two-story home, the adopted Canadian had set to work writing and putting the poster board together on the floor of the older boy's bedroom with precision and careful thought. At a point he'd even tried bribing the other into going home, assuring he'd get his end of the project to him if only to remove his source of uncomfortable awe from his sight.

But Ike was quick, his tongue not lacking in clever responses.

And now this.

"You missed the part where this isn't a debate. It was up to our moms."

"What?" The athlete paused, his darker eyes turning to land on the smaller male quietly in confusion before he groaned from where he stretched out on his bed lazily. "You can't be fucking serious."

"Yup." The response was so light, so resigned and casual that it drew a new sort of glance from him, quiet curiosity in his gaze, but Ike was already looking away again and down at the project set before his feet. "My ma called yours and asked about me staying over here for the night since her and dad wanted to have a night alone to themselves and whatnot."

"...why my mom?"

"You know how parents are around here. They all know one another so consequently they're always talking, moms in particular. Ma found out you're my project partner and she knew your mom from the PTA meetings. So.. you were convenient."

"Do fucking tell. Goddammit. Those damn chatty broads." Filmore covered his face for a pause, rubbed at it with the calloused palms of his hands in exasperation. This certainly did seem like a fitting situation, getting virtually tricked into spending a night with the one person that did nothing but make him question everything about himself.

The soft rustle of fabric caught his attention, leading him to turn his head and be met with the slender form of the boy sliding his enveloping hoodie over his head. The blue knit beanie he always wore caught in the fabric and slid free as well before Ike tossed them both where he'd left his shoes. His short black hair stuck up every which way carelessly, unkempt from the day. It nearly surprised Filmore how casual and small Ike suddenly seemed without his key layers.

And maybe, just maybe, he would have been okay with it if Ike hadn't begun tugging his pants off as well.

"What the hell are you doing?" His tone was tainted with barely audible shock, a subtle bubble of panic rising up in his chest. Filmore could only wonder where the panic was coming from, why the sight of the small male sliding his jeans down over his scrawny legs so thoroughly startling and twisting his gut.

"I'm getting comfortable so I can go to sleep. It's nearly two in the morning"

Of _course_ that's what he was up to. What else would it be?

Okay stomach, it's about time to stop that nasty squirming now.

"You can sleep in your pants you fag." Now he was just being stubborn. Why couldn't he just let it go?

Ike's brow rose, the thick frames of his glasses turning and settling on the older boy in something he could only label as amusement. The Canadian seemed to snort lightly and his gut only seemed to twist again. "Fag? I'm gay now?"

"Yeah, of course you are. You know what they say about you at school, right?"

"They say a lot about me at school. I don't really care. They can talk all they want."

"Well they call you a homo. That a little shitwipe like you has to be gayer than a fucking rainbow."

"Really." There was no question in his voice. It was that same blatant disregard for his insults that drove him insane. Now matter how he insulted the younger boy he just set it aside with a shrug or by simply turning away. It was infuriating, encouraging.

Ike stepped toward the bed without a word, drawing the athlete to sit up in silent alarm. Oh _hell_ no.

"You're sleeping on the floor." Filmore ground out without pause. The Jew seemed to regard him a moment, brow raised again.

"What, afraid I'll turn you on?"

"_What?_" If the blood hadn't rushed to his head to fast, maybe he would have heard him properly over the sound of his pulse in his ears. The whole idea was absurd. It was absolutely ridiculous.

Ike had used the distraction to begin climbing onto his bed, startling him further though the smaller teenager paid him no mind as he crawled to the other side.

"Get off my bed, Broflovski!"

"Did you know that generally most bullies that call others gay are gay themselves?" Ike didn't seem bothered by the others shouting in the slightest as he went on. "Sometimes it's subconscious, other times they can't face the fact that they are what they hate or fear. So tell me, Filmore, how long have you liked men?"

Their eyes met and Filmore glared with what he hoped was anger.

Ike was bullshitting him, he had to be.

Fuck fuck fuck, why was he actually thinking about this? He didn't like guys, that's just-

Impossible?

"I don't fucking like guys." he growled out irritably now.

"Also, I don't want to sleep on the floor. There's no room because of the project."

"You could clean it up!" Not to mention there was plenty of space on the other side of the bed. He didn't exactly have a small room with how generally well off his parents were. They were the O'Donnell family after all with a million high expectations to follow.

"Why bother when I'm just going to finish it in the morning?"

Ike Broflovski had a fucking response to _everything_.

A brief silence settled over them a moment before he was glancing at the smaller male quietly, brow knit almost thoughtfully. "Hey so.. are you a fag?"

"I don't care much about gender." He didn't even bother to roll over to face him.

"So you _are_ gay. Ha. I fucking knew it."

"No, I said I don't _care_. It's different. I like people who grab my attention. There aren't many of those."

"Uh huh. Sure."

Ike turned his head toward him for a moment, half rolling over and his glasses gone. The athlete could feel his brow raise, taken aback by the blue of the smaller boy's gaze without that reflective glass protecting them. It was almost as if they actually held emotion, that he was more than a machine for a moment.

"So, you've conveniently forgotten about Ms. Stevenson and I back in kindergarten."

"... The teacher?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure having a relationship with her and having sex shows that I don't mind girls."

".. oh."

Ike laid down again quietly, drawing the blanket up over him again.

"Didn't she just kind of.. take advantage of you?" Filmore prodded gently after a pause, suddenly uncertain.

"I don't remember much of it, to be honest. I think she was enough of a child herself emotionally that it hardly mattered at all. Besides, I've dated other girls." The Canadian's tone was soft, thoughtful as he considered his words almost carefully, his answers setting the older boy back on track.

"Did you fuck them?"

"I was like.. 11."

"Yeah and with Ms. Stevenson you were like what, 3?"

"Touche."

"So?"

"Why the sudden interest?"

"To dig dirt up on you of course." He didn't actually know.

Ike seemed to snort for a moment, almost amused yet he yielded. "No. I didn't. Are you done investigating into my sex life or do you want to know if I touch myself at night like all the other boys?"

Filmore huffed softly to himself, brow furrowed as he rolled onto his back, yanking the blankets higher as if to guard himself from the subtle accusation he thought to be there. His brown eyes locked onto the ceiling, an eternity passing at a snail's pace. The younger teen curled up inches away slowly grew still and silently, his soft breathing evening out and a sense of calm falling between them. With Ike asleep, he could relax and think without the overshadowing presence of the mini-genius unconsciously baring down on him.

It was strange how high school seemed to be the catalyst to the strangest of emotions, the spark to the oddest yet most important revelations. Yet for Filmore, it was the moment when Ike was suddenly a bigger pain in his ass than before, a constant nagging inclination in the back of his mind no matter what he was up to or thinking about.

Would he have done this better?

Would he stop being a little shit?

Would he finally react to his insults?

Would he actually look at him?

Would he-

This was stupid. These thoughts were always stupid. It was as if Ike Broflovski was some sort of infection, a parasite that seeped into everything he did but sports. Sports were where he could excel without the squirt beating him. Unless it was ice hockey. That'd been a humiliating day on its own. It had been middle school and he'd finally gotten a rise out of him, though what it was about he couldn't even recall. He'd coerced him onto the ice to play as his friends laughed and snickered at the smaller boy standing there in his hoodie and hockey stick in hand looking irritated.

And yet he'd lost.

Ike had zipped straight passed him and scored without a thought or a glance back.

What had pissed him off the most was that he hadn't even looked back as he took his skates off and left, hadn't even gloated or rubbed it in his face. He just.. went back to being a robot even though his cheeks had been redder than before. That had been a rare moment where it seemed like there was something going on inside of him outside of his mechanical motions.

Now that he thought back on it, he'd never seen the other kid flush like that.

Something must have bee-

There was an arm sliding over his front, a face and body pressing against his side so casually that Filmore very nearly jumped up and out of his skin. He stared down wildly, his near-epiphany thoroughly interrupted and shattered in the face of the subject of his musings _cuddling_ into him.

_Oh__ holy __fuck __what __is __this __about._

The Canadian stilled again, his arm draped over his chest and his breathing evened out again through a soft mumble. His blood was running cold, every inch of him startled and uncertain as he stared down at the other.

"Broflovski," he whispered hesitantly, painting his tone with annoyance. "Hey. Hey, you need to move... Broflovski, fucking _move_."

His words were met with a soft mumble and nothing else, his fears realized. He was asleep.

"Oh _hell _no. You need to wake up and move right now." He pushed at his shoulder lightly with a larger calloused hand only to have Ike's brow furrowed and hold onto his T-shirt tightly. Filmore froze quietly as the other shifted closer, his skinnier leg sliding forward to rest over his thighs.

Well now this was certainly a can of worms.

"Why the hell do you do shit like this?" he groaned softly, exasperated.

".. n.. warm.."

He froze again a moment before his brown eyed gaze lingered on the calm sleeping expression of the younger male. "Are you.. asleep?"

"Mm.."

"... you are, aren't you.." He couldn't believe it, getting startled by a little sleep talking. He shook his head, trying again to slide away a little.

"Filmore.. stop..it."

Well.. _shit_.

"Ike?" Filmore asked curiously, suspiciously.

"..mm..?"

"... how do you feel about the kids at school?"

Ike seemed to shift, groaning a bit as his brow knit before he seemed to relax again. He spoke softly, sleepily in a wavering soft of manner, "..do..on't like them.. they all just.. use me for answers.."

Filmore paused quietly, his gut twisting as he raised a hand and hesitantly brushed his fingers over the others short black hair. He slowly relaxed even as the small male began to speak again, growing used to this new idea that Ike was indeed just sleep talking.

"..s'lonely.."

Maybe the Canadian machine wasn't such a machine after all, he pondered. Perhaps.. he was simply an android? He snorted softly, noting the craziness of his own metaphors getting a bit out of hand. He continued to stroke his hair lightly as the warmth of the other soaked into his skin through their clothing, quietly memorizing how much heat Ike radiated without even thinking.

This was certainly an odd situation, something to wonder with the way his stomach was flopping and churning so unpleasant yet not. It was almost like-

Oh no. _No_.

_I__ am__** not **__going __there_.

It was too late, he'd already entertained the idea one too many times within his subconscious for it to pass so easily in this situation and now it invaded his thoughts, consumed his attention and refused to let go. And there it was, his nagging inclination staring him hard in the face.

He _liked_ Ike Broflovski.

All those night of hazy dreams he tossed up to being out of his control, all those lingering glances and nearly obsessive thoughts he drummed up to being out of spite, jealousy, they fell away in the face of his biggest problem positively _snuggling_ up to him. There were no excuses now, no reasoning or denying, he _liked_ that cold mechanical little machine of a genius.

Filmore's thoughts buzzed about his head, a wasp nest disturbed by the prodding stick of reason as it insisted on badgering the piss out of him. His brow knit together quietly as his frenzied thoughts slowly melted into the soft subtle breaths of the small Jew pressed against him, calming him if only for a moment. Ike was shifting again, nudging closer as his leg moved and hooked between his as the others breath hitched in quiet alarm. Heat flooded his cheeks in response as his brow furrowed quietly to stave off the almost inevitable reaction his body felt threatened but by the telltale tremor starting within the muscles of his abdomen, it was too late.

He was growing hard, and embarrassingly so.

"Hng.. no.." Filmore brought a hand up to cover his face quietly in frustration, his eyes squeezing shut. He could feel the nervous excitement in his belly, the heat that stirred and settled at the junction of his legs as the burden of every teenager to ever suffer beneath the tyranny of puberty came upon him.

Oh the joy of irrepressible and nearly spontaneous erections bent on humiliating their victims.

And maybe perhaps robbing them of their sanity.

The minutes passed and he thought desperately of anything that he could consider unappealing; grandmas in bikinis, a particular nasty scene from that movie The Thing he'd ended up watching one day. But the tent developing in the front of his boxers was persistent, undeterred.

_Fuck,__ fuck __it's __not __working_.

A sense of panic was rolling over him even as he tried to slide free of the Canadian's grasp only to have Ike hang on stubbornly with the murmur of warmth and 'stay', the small male's leg still hooked around his. Filmore bit his lip for a moment before he closed his eyes seemingly in defeat. He stopped his nervous fretting.

And thinking.

Filmore's breath hitched softly as his hand slid down and fish himself out through the hole of his boxers, a soft pleased noise leaving his throat once he held the warm weight of his own erection in his hand. He swallowed quietly, feeling the soft heat of Ike's breath seep into the material of his shirt where the smaller male had tucked his face into his chest and pinned his other arm. He began to stroke the heat length secured in his hold steadily, his confidence increasing with each pump of his fist beneath the blankets.

"Hah.." The older teen breathed out, brow knit in concentration as his lips parted with small breathless moans, careful not to stir the smaller male too much. His legs drew up slowly, pressing his feet flat onto the bed as his thoughts began to take him. He could feel that familiar swell of aggression in his veins that always came, that need to take, to dominate. He played the part of the aggressive athlete for so many years, the bully, the _man_ and now his habitual front was a part of him, tracing through each filthy thought that crossed his mind.

What would Ike be like in bed? Would he squirm and be embarrassed? Or would his infuriating calm remain until he fucked him? The thought of making the little genius lose his cool, his skin flushed and lungs heaving beneath him stirred the intensifying heat in his gut. His cock gave a healthy twitch, throbbing in his grasp and he slowed his pace, intent on dragging it out as always.

No no, he was supposed to just get it _over_ with.

But he didn't care anymore. If Ike caught him, he was ruined anyway, why not enjoy himself while he could? It was stupid, suicide, but _God __it __felt __good_.

Ike was shifting, making soft almost disgruntled noises for a moment before he stilled again, the movement pumping Filmore's heart hard in his chest in alarm as the Canadian's smaller hand knocked against his own.

And suddenly the thought of Ike actually touching him was all he could think about. It consumed him and set his blood on fire, unable to quell the urge to guide the younger teen's hand to his erection as he shifted and slid his other arm from beneath the small Jew the best he could without jarring him into actually waking. He gripped his hand without thinking, no time to fully consider the consequences as he continued to almost lazily stroke himself as he led Ike's hand a few inches to where his erection waited with throbbing eagerness. Filmore hissed softly, groaning deep in his throat with clenched teeth once he grasped the others hand around himself.

"Oh fuck.." Ike's palm was less calloused than his, smaller than his own and what he was doing suddenly felt that much dirtier as he clumsily resumed his strokes with the younger teen's hand trapped within his own. His hips rolled into the sleep driven grip the other had taken on with his heels dug into the mattress firmly for leverage. Filmore breathed heavily, the precum leaking heavily from the head of his cock slicking Ike's palm and easing the slide of flesh against flesh in the most delightful manner of friction.

He was on fire, every movement he made more desperate than the last as Ike's hand seemed to instinctively grip tighter and serving only to fuel his fleeting thoughts of _more_. This was wrong, this was so fucking wrong but dammit, he wanted it, he wanted more, he wanted _Ike_.

Filmore gasped and bucked into the the combination of their hands as the heat slowly swelled and intensified, his skin flushing heavily as it did when he was nearly there. He was usually so controlled and careful, but this was different, more intense. The risk of getting caught, of the other waking and finding him turned him on like nothing else and the mere thought made his cock throb.

"Fu-.." A choked whisper, strangled with the afterthought to keep quiet caught in his throat as the rushing heat of orgasm rolled over him. He shuddered violently, feeling the telltale wetness of stray cum spattering against the exposed skin of his belly where his shirt had ridden up. The rush faded and abated slowly, the reality of the situation falling onto his chest heavily with disillusionment.

"Shit."

"I'll say."

Filmore jumped with alarm, sitting up abruptly as Ike's hand slipped from his grasp just as quickly, the smaller boy's blue eyes meeting his own, hard and sharp. If this wasn't the worst moment of his life, he didn't know what was.

"You want to explain something?"

"What?"

Ike's brow furrowed a bit, a show of frustration and thought as he continued to stare at the other with an unyielding gaze. "Try again."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Broflovski."

Oh yes, because denial was so much better. It was a stupid move, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Filmore there's something _wet_ on my hand and it isn't sweat."

"... maybe you drooled?"

"Do you like me?"

"What kind of fucking question is that?" Oh fuck, his heart just lodged in his throat.

"Do you _like_ me."

"I- what- you-.."

Ike was staring at him hard, though the anger in it had lessened just a bit. Filmore was caught in the spotlight, knowing he was caught, the little genius calculating what was going on with little difficulty. But it was his mouth that was the true enemy as he sputtered, "Y-.. You're delusional."

"Delusional, huh?" Ike's brow furrowed just as quickly, angrily and he smeared his hand across his shirt without a word despite the noise of protest Filmore made before he crawled out of the bed. He was like a small timebomb, snatching his pants from the floor irritably.

"What.. uh.. what're you doing?"

"I'm going home."

"You can't go out there alone." Filmore sat up, having the decency to at least right himself before he did so. He felt his heart hammering, knowing he'd done something stupid, something incredibly bad and feeling all the regret in the world over it. He was nauseous, biting his lip as the small Canadian glared at him, pants in place now.

"And what, you're going to channel the gentleman within and walk me home?"

"But your parents.."

"I'll tell them I didn't feel well and came home."

Filmore floundered for an answer, an excuse, standing now as Ike reached for his hoodie with his glasses in place. Ike turned and stepped toward the door, hoodie in hand as he stepped after him, gut clenched and uncertain.

"You have one more chance, Filmore."

He stopped, regarding the smaller male closely now with his heart lodged in his throat once more. Ike turned and looked at him, those glasses barring him from the real emotion behind them again. "Now tell me the truth."

"I-.."

"Explain it to me because I don't fucking understand! You use my _fucking hand_ to help jack off while I'm _SLEEPING_ of all fucking things now do you like me or n-?"

His resolve cracked and crumbled, surging him forward as his lips pressed against Ike's, willing him to understand, to feel his confusion and adoration in the other male. Small hands came up and touched his shirt uncertainly, pressing against his chest without pushing him away. Filmore could almost feel the gears turning in the others head as he molded their lips together, insistent yet questioning at once, desperate to be understood. He leaned back again after a pause, eyes finding the others quietly, his brow knit slightly in question.

"So you-."

"I _like _you!" Filmore's palms slapped the door lightly on either side of the small Canadian's head, his face scrunched in frustration. "I fucking like you and I couldn't stop myself! You were just pressing closer and closer and I just couldn't fucking stop! I didn't mean to do it I'm sorry! All right? I-"

Ike's lips stopped him, pressing against his lightly before they pulled back just as quick. The younger teen suddenly looked startled, like he hadn't realized what he'd just done. His cheeks were flushing and brow knit, a show of embarrassed confusion that intrigued the older boy. It was.. cute.

"I get it. I get it, okay? You're sorry."

"..yeah."

Filmore's hands dropped away and he stepped back, giving the other room.

"I might like you too."

His head shot up, surprised but the other wasn't look at him, his gaze wandered off to the side and a flush on his cheeks.

"What?"

"You always told me what you thought. You didn't ever care, you always insulted me to my face while everyone else always tiptoes around me, talking behind my back. But you were different. You're smart, always right there behind me but you could do more. You have friends and play sports. I always.. admired you in a way."

Out of everything the younger teen had said, it surprised him most that Ike was so honest about it. He hadn't realized how straightforward the other was when he'd always preferred to be so quiet.

"So.. I guess I'll stay."

Ike tossed his hoodie to the side as Filmore stepped back, surprised again. "Oh so you're going to stay now?"

Again with the sassy mouth.

"Yup."

Ike moved about undaunted, shrugging his jeans off again. "But if you pull a stunt like that again, I'll kick your ass, mutual understanding or not."

Filmore felt a challenge of a smile tug at his lips, one that Ike returned with one of his own. "You can try, Broflovski."

"Oh, I don't _try_, Filmore, I _do_."

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><p><strong>This is when I sit here and chuckle because all my readers are dying for updates while I just sit here and write a whole new pairing instead. Fuck, I have too much to do and too much to finish. BUT HEY AT LEAST I'M WORKING ON THEM. But <em>anyway<em> my lovely girlfriend has gotten me into this pairing rather hardcore. So I'm shipping it hard guys okay.**

**Which led to obligatory rushed fanfiction with dirty things.**

**And maybe this'll have a sequel.**

**And maybe it'll be titled something like 'Coming of Age' or even 'Becoming a Shark' I don't know.**

**Because I like the idea of Ike getting him back for doing something so sneaky, dirty, and rude.**


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